imperfect sunshine
by xx.aesthetic
Summary: ShikaIno; because Ino is not perfect, and he realizes this, but accepts her all the same. -in the morning, she certainly left much to be desired.


Authoress' Note: Short, sweet, silly ShikaIno. Lighthearted, and only one microscopic piece of crack exists. This shall make your heart flutter, I HOPE. =]

Onward!

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. The only thing I own is a nasty cold as I write this. D:

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**imperfect sunshine**

When Shikamaru wakes in the morning, he is unpleasantly groggy and sore in places that he did not know he possessed. He groans an almost _morbid_ groan; because in all actuality, this is how he truly feels.

His eyes hurt as well, he comes to realize when he attempts to open them. After a bit of inward encouraging, the man finally musters enough strength to raise his weary eyelids. It is painful to move his eyeballs, but he does nonetheless. The room is quite familiar; it is _his_, after all.

Shikamaru eyes the room until they stop at his curtains, though not for any particular reason. They are not out of the ordinary, and there is a single beam of golden light piercing through the gaps of it. It is balmy on his face, but he finds it increasingly more irritating than comforting.

Uncomfortable, he decides to turn onto his other side to escape the dastardly sunlight. The sheets are cool against his bare skin, and he manages to hold in a groan when he realizes the shoulder that he is lying on is much more tender than the rest of his body.

Something ticklish brushes up against his cheeks as soon as he settles himself into the desired position. He stops moving and it taken aback when shuffling continues. Squinting his eyes, he faintly notes blonde strands, not even an inch away from him.

_Blonde strands…_

_Blonde hair…_

…_Ino?_

He blinks once.

Twice.

It has to be Ino, otherwise there is an unknown woman—or, God forbid, _man_—currently sleeping in his bed. It is _Ino_, he confirms, because through a few strands of soft hair, the silver earring on her right ear is in view.

Silently lying on his side, he wonders why he can't he remember how she had gotten there the night before… What exactly had happened last night?

Although sore, Shikamaru has no traces of a hangover; so it _hadn't_ been alcohol. The only intoxicant last night had been insomnia, and this is the only thing he can weakly recall.

He stiffens when Ino stirs in the slightest. He does not want to wake her, for he hasn't the tiniest idea what Ino is like in the morning. Instead, he does not move, only observes as the sleeping woman rolls over to face him.

As the sheets move to wrap loosely around her waist, he realizes that, one—whatever had transpired the night before had led to Ino shedding her blouse, leaving her in a dark pink brassiere—and that two, Yamanaka Ino looked absolutely _god-awful _in the morning.

Deadpanning, Shikamaru decides to ignore the obvious humor in the situation. He is more upset that he has been deceived; this is supposed to be Yamanaka Ino, _seemingly _perfect Yamanaka Ino. In the morning, was she not supposed to rise in a radiat, golden aura like the heavenly goddess that she is proclaimed to be? Like the spitting image of all things glorious?

Although she had never stated such, he feels deceived nonetheless. After all, it went without saying, right?

He decides to inspect her more closely, for perhaps there _is_ celestial beauty hidden beyond what he sees. The sun is bathing her in a very unflattering manner, highlighting every blemish on her otherwise flawless face. Maybe it has a bit to do with the fact that her tan concealer is currently smeared on his navy blue pillowcase.

And then, there is her eyes. Her mascara seems to be running, though it is feasibly smeared on his pillowcase as well. There is a trail of the dark eye makeup stretching from the inside of her eyes nearest to her nose, all the way to her temple. He can also see a bit of dried rheum in the corner of her eyes amongst the ruined mascara, which is more unsightly that he can put into words.

Her blonde tresses, which are usually to be envied, are scatter every which way upon her head. It appears unpleasantly greasy from his angle, with tiny knots and tangles lining the length of it. A bit of mascara is present in her hair as well.

Releasing a reluctant grunt, he comes to the unfortunate conclusion that Ino is not a perfect angel in the mornings, and that there is no celestial beauty hidden underneath the underneath. Only more smeared makeup, unkempt hair, and—_wait_. What is that? Is that… _slob_?

He furrows his eyebrows in dissatisfaction immediately upon discovering Ino's bodily fluids seeping into his already sullied—because of her stupid makeup and oily hair—pillowcase. It is just a single stream trailing from the corner of her mouth, onto his pillow.

_What? _He muses, _What on earth caused this madness?!_

She seems to somehow have heard his hysterical inner thoughts, because she begins to stir again. This time, however, she yawns a loud yawn—and Shikamaru is beyond relieved, because the waterfall that is her saliva has now dissipated. Her long arms come out of the sheets, and they extend above her head in a well-needed stretch. Softly moaning, the woman sits up, and absentmindedly rubs at her arms. Then, she settles into a slouch, her blue eyes scanning the room. Her mind is still clouded with sleep.

Shikamaru irritably watches as she rises; then proceeds to dub her the infamous queen of morning ugly. His eyes are glued to her back, to the dark purple brassier that she is wearing.

The haze of sleep finally leaving her, Ino realizes that she is in Shikamaru's room. And that… there is a sharp glare threatening to puncture her right lung. She can't help but yawn again in spite, before lazily turning her stiff neck to acknowledge the peeved man.

"Morning, sunshine," she casually greets in a mellifluous voice. She smiles at him, and Shikamaru half expects there to be traces of bright red lipstick covering her usually pearly teeth.

He thanks the heavens that there are not.

He doesn't respond, only considers reprimanding her in horror when she begin absentmindedly rubbing at the crusty rheum in her eyes. And he does nothing when it simply flakes off onto his previously fresh sheets.

Shikamaru frowns, and then grumpily states, "You drooled on my pillow, Ino."

The scarecrow's first reaction is a glare, to which he is not moved. She confirms this fact when she realizes that her cheek is damp, so she rubs at this as well. "And your boxers are lodged in the garbage disposal, what of it?"

When he opens his mouth to retort, he realizes that it _is_ particularly breezy in _that_ region…

After smoothing her messy hair out of her face, she kicks the sheets off her. "Exactly. So you just lie there in your nakedness and be naked, alright?" She tiredly laughs as she exits his bed.

He doesn't offer a reply to what she has said, mostly out of discreet mortification. Instead, he quietly observes as the lean, mean, queen of morning ugly sways into his bathroom—basking in undeserved glory, he mulls—in only a damned bra and grey boy shorts.

Despite his growing irritation, Shikamaru can't help but wonder why Ino has allowed herself to 'go' in front of him. More often than not, Ino stresses about her looks and appearing 'perfect'; she spends hours on her maquillage, and even longer taming the bush she calls hair.

So now, why had she allow herself loose before _him_, of all people? The night before, she had to have know that _this_ was what she was going to wake up looking like…

Sighing, Shikamaru decides that perhaps what he has gone threw this morning was not such a fruitless ordeal. Only _he_ has seen the real Ino, so he assumes that it must count for something.

He will relish that fact and that fact _alone _for now.

Later, he will concern himself with beseeching his overbearing mother to wash his now slobbery, greasy bed sheets; with seeking a plumber to unclog the mysteriously backed up garbage disposal; and with trying to recall _just what the hell happened last night_…

Currently, he is concerning himself with Ino.

_His_ Ino.

His queen of morning ugly.

His scarecrow.

…His imperfect sunshine.

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**And** with looking for a pair of boxers…

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Authoress' Note: Face it, people. NO ONE IS GOING TO WAKE UP LOOKING LIKE PERFECT PERFECTION, alright? Yamanaka Ino is only human, after all.

That being said, it was fun writing this for the most part. ^.^

I don't know how that randomness got in there, because this wasn't even supposed to be humor. Lol; oh well.

Review softly!


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